


Coffee and Souls, Served Black and Cold

by IneffableEffie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Coffee Shops, I'm an ADHD mess and I whipped this up and I'm ready to impulsively share it with the world, M/M, Pining, Starbucks, Trans Male Character, rewrites? editing? we don't need no stinkin' editing process
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 06:59:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableEffie/pseuds/IneffableEffie
Summary: Crowley is in the heart of America looking for a soul to secure, or whatever...gotta keep home office happy. He wasn't expecting to see himself reflected in his quarry.





	Coffee and Souls, Served Black and Cold

**Author's Note:**

> First fanfiction I've ever written but these angelic bastards have DONE THINGS to me and I couldn't resist.

Crowley dropped back against the counter and flopped his head to his left, then right, scanning the crowded midwestern Starbucks. It was high time he did an honest tempting to report on amidst his usual dishonest paperwork. Really though, he was a demon. Lying to management should be expected. Honesty was good. And good was bad. And he was already bad enough at being bad without going around being too good for his own good. Crowley narrowed his eyes and slurped an iced coffee. His brow furrowed. He opened his mouth, prepared to talk himself through the train of thought which had just derailed when he spotted a young, tan man not drinking a large cup of tea at a table alone. Right. A tempting.

Crowley was in one of the vaguely midwestern States. He could never remember which were which. They all melded together in his mind. He had been making a trip to America every election year since 2000. He had only been in Florida to visit the Clearwater Aquarium. He had heard they had dolphins there that painted so he had gone to marvel at their cetaceous cleverness. It had just been dumb luck that his trip coincided with the hanging chad debacle. Home office had assumed he was to credit and he hadn’t seen the point in correcting their erroneous praise. In 2016 he had even won an unholy commendation which he reluctantly accepted. He felt dirty being associated with that particular twat but he couldn’t exactly admit to head office the humans had created that mess completely of their own accord.

Crowley had chosen this suburban Starbucks because they were predictably filled to bursting with busy, entitled commuters who would have short fuses until their caffeine had fully kicked in and because, on some level, didn’t people who had $5 to spend on a coffee but chose to spend it at a soulless chain rather than a local shop that actually cherished the miracle of truly magnificent espresso deserve what was coming to them? His black iced coffee wasn’t bad though. He shrugged and sucked long on the straw.

He watched the young man through his large shades. The man had his phone out like most of the patrons, aside from a trio of nondescript men tapping away on laptop keyboards, though he wasn’t looking at the phone. Crowley flicked out his finger and the three typing men stopped simultaneously and exclaimed “NO!” in unison as their screens went blank. 

Crowley tsk-tsked under his breath, muttering “oh, too bad. Should have saved your work boys.” No reason, while he was here anyway, that he couldn’t ruin the morning of three mediocre white men self-deluded enough to think that spending every morning at a table in Starbucks would either land them a date with an unsuspecting woman just trying to enjoy a hot drink in peace or a book deal for what would be the next great American Novel.

He stood up and swayed towards the boy staring blankly at his lidless paper cup. The fragrant vanilla tea latte had ceased steaming at some point. The phone dinged and Crowley stopped as the young man glanced at the notification. The man smiled. No. He beamed. He brushed a strand of dark hair from his forehead, quickly typed some sort of reply and set his phone back down as the shadow returned to his face. All evidence of the bright smile vanished.

Crowley sauntered over to the table and flopped into the seat with a casual “This seat taken? All the tables are occupied.” He crossed his legs and held the iced coffee aloft by its top and continued without pausing “I’m sure you don’t mind. Thanks so much.” The boy seemed startled. He looked about the room as if he had forgotten where he was. He began to reply “Oh, Um. I guess? But there’s actually a ta—“

“Wonderful. I’m Anthony” Crowley interrupted, setting his cup down and extending a hand.

“Skylar” the boy replied in a soft voice, raising an eyebrow at the outreached hand but placing his own hands in his lap. Crowley pulled back and fidgeted with his coffee as he took in the details of the young man’s face. He had long lashes and high cheekbones, and a smooth, round chin with no trace of stubble. “Bugger” he thought. Crowley wasn’t above tempting people who were already moody and depressed but he was’t interested in leading kids down the path to hell. Maybe this boy was truly more boyish than he had realized. Crowley leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and peered more closely. Skylar shrank back and glanced side to side to see if anyone else had noticed this bizarre man and to evaluate which was the closest exit. Crowley observed the smooth line of Skylar’s neck as he turned his head. “Ah,” he thought. “That might explain things.”

Crowley leaned back again and thought of his early days. The really early days. Hadn’t he balked at God’s prescribed plan? He’d dared to question the status quo and he was a supernatural entity. He couldn’t help but admire any human, any fragile, fleeting human, who had the courage to do the same. A proper tempting could wait until tomorrow. Hell wouldn’t need to know. Besides, sometimes helping one person could lead to opportunities to hinder others. If somebody was the reason this young man was clearly having a rough go of things maybe Crowley could pay them a visit instead.

“Why the long face?” Crowley asked, dragging the why out slightly.

“Uhhh.” Skylar replied, incredulous. Then he sighed. “Um. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He waved a hand as if it could wave away the stranger’s curiosity. 

“Right. Of course. Nothing.” Crowley nodded repeatedly and took a long, noisy, accusing sip through the green straw of his drink, fixing his stare on Skylar.

Skylar saw himself reflected in the dark glasses and sighed again. “Look. I don’t even know you. And I’m not really the spill-your-guts to strangers kind of guy” he said. He looked again at his reflection and was hit by sudden reckless sadness. “But,” he moved his cup of cold tea aside “if you must know, I’m secretly in love with my best friend and I’ve just resigned myself to the fact that he can never know,” his speed increased and his voiced pitched slightly upward, “and I will die alone before I will risk making things weird between us by confessing how I really feel.”

Crowley’s mouth dropped open slightly, coffee spilling out. He scrambled to conjure up napkins and wipe the liquid from his chin. Skylar looked confusedly at the large wad of napkins as Crowley dabbed at the wet spot on his lap. Skylar blushed, ashamed by the fact that he was confessing his deepest secrets to this odd British redhead and baffled at the fact that he was so angst-ridden he was beginning to see things, or rather, not see things. How had he not noticed the giant pile of napkins in this stranger’s grasp before?

“Um, right. Sorry ‘bout that. Uh. Yes. Right. Yuh, yuh, you were saying?” Crowley stumbled over the words.

“I was saying my best friend is the love of my life. He’s funny and he’s strong and he’s handsome and he’s just a little bit dumb in that endearing way that some people have of being dumb even though they’re also the smartest person you know, ya know? And I’m in love with him. And I’ve been falling in love with him for months now. But he’s been my friend since we were seven years old and I could never gamble what we have now on the off chance that he could someday feel the same about me that I do about him. But every time I see him I wish I could kiss him and feel his stubbly cheeks in my hands. And every time I get a text from him I want to reply with exes and ohs. And every time he shows me who’s messaging him on Grindr the jealously is so overwhelming it aches. I would marry him today if he wanted me. I adore him and want to spend the rest of my stupid, miserable life with him.” Skylar raised his voice. The other people in the shop were staring. “So there ya go.” He stood up and gestured at the table as if presenting his story as an object placed there. “You wanted my sob story, you got it in all its TMI glory!” His eyes looked wet and fiery at the same time. “If you’re going to be nosey,” his voice cracked, “then maybe you had be better prepared to deal with hearing more than you bargained for.” Skylar pocketed his phone and grabbed his tea cup. He bent over, lifting a ratty navy backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder as he walked away. He slammed the cup into the garbage and bolted out the door nursing indignation at nosey strangers to avoid acknowledging the embarrassment he felt over his own ridiculous oversharing and scene-making.

Crowley sat at the little table, staring blankly at the space occupied by his iced coffee until the ice had all melted, thinking about an angel who was smart and fussy and had soft curls he longed to touch and was just little bit dumb.


End file.
